


Antarian Redux

by person_of_letters



Series: Antarian Redux [1]
Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Alien Character(s), Disappearances, Eventual Malex, Eventual wlw relationships, F/M, M/M, New tags will be added with each chapter, Noah Bracken mentioned, We don't acknowledge 2x06 in this house, canon compliant through 2x05
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:20:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23996641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/person_of_letters/pseuds/person_of_letters
Summary: For the last few months, strange instances of lost time and missing people had been cropping up between Nevada and New Mexico. As whatever is causing it seems to be moving closer to Roswell, the group set aside their issues and get together to try and figure out what to do, but how do you protect yourself from something when you don't even know what it is? Something wicked this way comes.Chapter 1 Soundtrack: "Bad Moon Rising" by Mourning Ritual (cover)
Relationships: Maria DeLuca/Michael Guerin, Max Evans/Liz Ortecho, Michael Guerin/Alex Manes
Series: Antarian Redux [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1730473
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	Antarian Redux

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first chapter of a longer fic and the first fic of a larger series.  
> I'm still working out the kinks, so to speak, when it comes to this whole writing thing so please bear with me.  
> Tumblr: mentally-maladjusted

Something was wrong.

They had been hearing rumblings and whispers for weeks about people going missing and whole groups -- restaurants, café’s, movie theaters -- losing minutes or more of time without any explanation.

Alex had scoured the Project Sheppard database trying to find any similarity, but there were no records of any alien with the ability to interfere with the minds or memories of people on so large a scale.

The incidents started in Nevada and were moving southeast toward New Mexico. The last that they knew of happened three days ago in Los Alamos. A diner off the freeway had reports of 11 people losing almost twenty minutes of time.

“Isn’t lost time an alien abduction thing?” Rosa asked, sitting on a stool at the bar of the Crashdown with her chin in her hand and one leg folded over the other.

Isobel rolled her eyes, “no one has been abducted. This has government conspiracy written all over it. Or a bender.”

“Eleven simultaneous benders all in the same roadside diner? Really? And what about all the other cases?” Maria hopped onto the bar next to Rosa’s elbow and took a sip of her shake. “Government conspiracy I could see, though.”

“What do the witnesses say?” Michael looked directly at Alex who was set up at one of the booths, laptop open and notebook out.

Maria placed a hand on her boyfriend’s shoulder, but his eyes stayed locked on the airman. Since Alex had informed him of the events that had started in Carson City Nevada, Michael had been growing increasingly anxious about what they could mean. He didn’t talk about what he was hopeful for, or worried about, but Maria could feel the tension vibrating off him in waves.

Alex locked eyes with Michael and then looked down at his notes. Clearing his throat, “they don’t really say anything. All the stories are pretty similar -- one minute they were sitting and getting ready to eat their food or drink their coffee, the next thing they know their coffee’s ice cold, their food is soggy, and all the clocks say it’s twenty minutes later.” Flipping through pages in his notebook, Alex continued, “most of the other cases are about the same. Lost time from one second to the next with no clue as to what happened, though it appears that no one moved during all that time, so it doesn’t look like they went anywhere.”

“So much for the abduction theory,” Isobel chimed, smirking at Rosa.

“Okay, so why exactly are we worried about this, then? It’s not like anyone’s been hurt. There aren’t diners full of mutilated corpses popping up all over the southwest,” Rosa ignored Isobel. “Do we really need to be looking for trouble?”

“People are missing, Rosa.” Liz replied. Her voice was tense, as was her frame from where she sat at a table by Max. His hands were curled around a cup of coffee that he hadn’t touched since Liz put it in front of him, staring blankly down at the inky surface that had long since lost its steam.

“Sounds like a job for the police, then.”

“Rosa, enough.” Liz squeezed Max’s hand. “Is no one going to say what we’re all thinking?”

They had all been talking in circles for over forty-five minutes, little vignette’s around the diner. Max and Liz sat alone at a central table. Michael, Maria, and Rosa were crowded at the bar, nursing shakes and fries. Isobel sat cross-legged on a table top across from Liz and Max, and Alex and Kyle occupied the booth directly across from the trio at the bar.

Traffic at 1am in Roswell was virtually nonexistent so the streets beyond the windows were quiet and still.

“Noah.” Max rasped.

“No.”

“Iz…”

“No!” Isobel uncrossed her legs and sat up straighter, tension pinching her face and straining her shoulders. “He’s dead. It’s not possible.”

“I know, but he could do things.” Max continued, looking up from his coffee to connect eyes with his sister. “It could be someone else doing the same thing.”

Isobel shook her head, back and forth, quickening with each pass.

“I don’t know,” Michael said. “This feels different. Bigger.”

Rosa scoffed. “He killed me, you jackass.”

“I mean the scale. Noah could only go after and control one person at a time and they had to be blacked out first. He didn’t have the juice to take over a whole room of coherent people.”

“Guerin’s right,” Alex cut in before Rosa or Isobel could comment further. “If I had to guess, I would say this is the work of multiple assailants.”

“Assailants? Really?”

“They’re organized. Efficient. They don’t leave a mess. Noah’s activities demanded discretion and secrecy, but he was sloppy. Whoever is doing this, they aren’t concerned with making sure no one finds out, they’re just making sure they don’t get caught.” Alex pulled up a file on his computer and turned it towards the others.

The screen was black, then grainy security footage began playing, the timestamp prominent in the corner. One minute, the picture showed a typical diner -- customers reading newspapers, scrolling through phones, eating, drinking, talking -- and the next everyone was utterly still. A tableau of desert Americana. For a few seconds the footage continued, then it skipped to 19 minutes 34 seconds later. Everyone was in the exact positions they had been in previously, right down to the expression. Suddenly everyone resumed their activities as if nothing had happened. No one even noticed anything was strange until people started tasting their food and wincing at cold coffee.

No one spoke. Alex pulled up another video. It was more security footage, this time of a coffee shop. Everything played out basically the same as the diner in Los Alamos except for one noticeable difference. After the footage skipped, this time 13 minutes and 44 seconds, the barista at the counter was gone.

“That footage was from a Starbucks in Cedar City, Utah. The barista who disappeared is named Jaime Laskin. He is 20 years old and has not been seen or heard from since this video was taken. That was three weeks ago.” Alex tuned his laptop back toward himself.

“So, what do we do?” Kyle asked, eyes trained across the booth at Alex.

“I don’t know.” The muscles in Alex’s jaw clenched and his hands went through the familiar motions of shutting down his computer and gathering up his papers.

“You don’t know?” Isobel asked. Her arms were crossed tightly over her chest.

“Correct. I don’t know.” He opened up his satchel and began stowing his items away, still not meeting anyone’s eyes.

“Alex.”

“I don’t know, Guerin!” Everyone stilled. “I have no idea how to proceed. I don’t know what or how many people are doing this, but it’s pretty damn clear to anyone who can read a map that they are making their way further southeast. I wouldn’t be surprised to hear something out of Santa Fe or Albuquerque any day. I don’t know if you’re in danger,” Alex swallowed, “or we’re in danger, or anything. I don’t know how to stop this or protect us. I just…” Alex took in a shuttering breath and ran his hand through his hair. “I don’t know.”

No one spoke as Alex slid out of the booth and grabbed his bag, walking to the door. Before pushing it open, he stopped and spoke quietly over his shoulder, “Just… be careful. Be vigilant.”

With that, he pushed through the door and disappeared into the balmy New Mexico night.

* * *

No news came out of Santa Fe or Albuquerque or anywhere else in New Mexico in the four days since Alex had briefed them all on the events in Los Alamos, and as the days passed, they began to relax and resume their ordinary lives.

It was Friday night at about 11:30pm and Isobel and Michael were playing pool at the Wild Pony while Maria worked behind the bar.

“Prepare to get spanked, little brother,” Isobel gloated, lining up the cue ball with the 8 in the top right pocket.

Before he could reply, Michael felt a ripple go through the bar; a hush. Abandoning her shot, Isobel slowly straightened up, looking out over the crowd at the Pony.

Everyone was utterly still. Drinks were partially lifted, beer-nuts and pretzels were left unchewed in mouths, and people were frozen in animated conversation.

Dread prickled along Michael’s spine as he turned to look back at Maria. Her face was frozen in a smirk as she was halted in placing a shot glass down on the bar. No one, nothing moved.

Michael and Isobel looked at each other, faces blanched of color.

“Michael?” Isobel whispered.

Then the door opened.


End file.
